


Someone Special

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Based on the hit song by Wham, Christmas Shopping, Fluff, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mall Shopping, Pining, Verbal Abuse, maybe? - Freeform, shop owner Pete, tagging to be safe because research told me it could be verbal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: Pete's the owner of some small mall shop that sells cute glass ornaments. Patrick's the precious man Pete falls in love with at first sight. But Patrick's already in a relationship-- one that Pete knows he shouldn't be in. Can Pete fix Patrick's heart before he loses him? Can he convince Patrick to choose something better?<><><>Based (very) loosely on "Last Christmas" by Wham! because it's a classic as far as I'm concerned





	Someone Special

**Author's Note:**

> [Wham! intensifies]
> 
> Another holiday season is upon us and what better way to celebrate than with fic about our two favorite boys? 
> 
> What follows is a somewhat Christmas-y tale based on the one Christmas song that my family will play over and over and over on repeat the second December rolls around. I hope you enjoy it, even a bit! Please remember to leave a comment with your thoughts and to have the most fantastic holiday celebration and a wonderful rest of your year-- in case I don't see you before then :)
> 
> On with the fic!

By the time Pete gets to the small customer service desk tucked away in the corner of his shop— a shop similarly tucked away in the corner of the mall— the customer is already screaming. 

They usually are, to be fair, but, damn, Pete was hoping he could defuse that bomb before it went off today. It’s always a good shift if he can shut down an angry customer before they have the chance to start shouting about whatever coupon’s expired or whichever policy they don’t like. Especially since he doesn’t have the excuse of turning the blame over to anyone else.

When he first started daydreaming about owning his own little custom ornaments and knickknacks shop, his mind had conveniently left out all the realistic details like customers or the cost of renting/buying space for it. He’d had shining visions of being one of those hot tourists spots in New York City or the prettier parts of Chicago, a big city shop that everyone would flock to. Maybe he’d even attract a few celebrities and get a TV ad running.

His dreams have always been bigger than his realities, though, and he rushed head in without a plan. He didn’t even have a name for the place; he just had his eye on the open mall spot and the certainty that he’d make it out of the local shopping center before the year was through.

Yeah. That was three years ago and all he’s succeeded in is finally naming the damn thing—  _ Hourglass _ , a loving “fuck you” to everyone who’d tried to convince him he was too old to switch from his steady office job to the adventures of running a shop based solely on handmade glass mementos.

(Not that they were wrong but Pete would literally rather die than ever admit to that.)

Besides, the job’s come with tons of perks: a staff he’s come to consider friends, a chance to profit off his favorite hobby, and the opportunity to chat with all kinds of cool and interesting people who wander in and out of the store.

Oh. And the amazing patience that comes with listening to the same rant every week from, at least, five different people each time.

“ _ You’re  _ the manager?” Today’s middle-aged woman places a hand on her hip, oversized sunglasses hiding the glare that she’s no doubt giving him as Pete finally, reluctantly, steps behind the check-out counter. She’s got the silver-blonde look going, hair too short for the bun she’s trying, and her lipstick dried up hours ago. 

“I’m actually the owner,” Pete says simply even though the shocked reaction is the best part of getting to say it. “Now, what seems to be the problem here?”

The customer, obviously still recovering from the fact that some punk with lazy stubble and unfinished tattoos is the owner, gapes before pointing rather rudely at the cashier.

“He should be fired,” she says with all the authority she doesn’t have. “I’ve asked multiple times if you carry any tree toppers and have been met with nothing but disrespect and insult.”

“Yeah, okay, alright,” Pete says with a sigh, looking over to which employee he’s going to need to console this time. Brendon, a younger kid with puppy dog eyes and a trembling bottom lip, stares back and Pete’s chest aches. In his interview, Brendon had explained he’d only taken the job to save up for Christmas presents and he’s been a great worker since then, enough so that Pete trusted him to handle the December shifts. Now, though, Pete’s regretting letting this kid get anywhere near the predators of this stressful time. “Why don’t you tell me what part was disrespectful?”

Brendon’s eyes widen further but he says nothing, probably too scared to defend himself in front of his attacker.

“I’ll remind you that I was polite about my questioning,” the customer cuts in— Pete’s mentally dubbed her Stacy after the generic Stacy-ness of her clothes and makeup. “My cat broke our tree topper and I don’t have time to be searching every store for one. I explained this and the boy still had the audacity to laugh and say that this isn’t really a Christmas shop.”

Pete’s lip twitches— he’s not sure if it’s in amusement or irritation. “Well, to be fair, we aren’t exactly—”

“You sell ornaments here, don’t you?” Stacy, totally a Stacy, asks. “For goodness’ sake, your front display table is just a nativity scene.”

_ Yes,  _ Pete wants to say,  _ because part of running a business is keeping up with whatever the hell is popular. And Christmas happens to be popular in December. _

Instead of risking another blow-up from this woman, Pete puts on his best customer service smile and turns to Brendon. 

“Why don’t you go check the back?” He asks, knowing full well there isn’t a back to check. Really, he’s hoping Brendon can go hide out in the break room for a while and forget this ever happened. 

Sure enough, Brendon nods gratefully and scurries off, nearly knocking over a set of small animal figurines Pete had made the weekend before. Pete cringes as the table shakes but then turns to the woman, still smiling despite her thousand-degree glower.

“I’m so sorry about all this,” he says, reaching for the stack of coupons kept beneath the register for moments like this. It’ll do jack-shit for this lady if she really wants a tree topper but most people see the free offers and walk away thinking they won. 

This woman is no such person.

“I’m not one to tell people how to do their job,” she blatantly lies to Pete’s face, “but I would suggest emphasizing customer service to your workers. It’s a bad look for your business if the boy— or girl— behind the counter can’t properly communicate with the people paying them. What sort of people do you look for during the hiring process, anyway? That boy is far too young and immature to be working here and, frankly, he isn’t the first child I’ve seen when shopping in this mall. This shop alone seems to be run by students and it’s such a shame because the figurines and displays are otherwise so lovely. Wouldn’t you consider replacing the staff with people more suited to the atmosphere? Or maybe—”

At this point, Pete zones out and puts the coupons he’d plucked back in the pile. It’s one thing to snap at a kid; it’s a whole other level of bitching once you start telling the owner how to run his business. 

Head aching and smile fading, Pete just nods and tries not to snap that half the kids here are the talented motherfuckers helping to make the glass knickknacks no doubt collecting dust at this lady’s stupid Christmas parties. Oh god, he could vividly see how that party would go, too. Fake-ass smiles and sophisticated conversations about family gossip while everyone tries to pretend they get along when, really, they’ll be drunk and at each other’s throats before the night’s even halfway through. The image just adds another dimension to his headache.

He’d been at parties like that before— unfortunately so. Sometimes because his family can suck when everyone’s drunk and bitter but mostly because his ex— a regretful mistake by the name of Tom— made Pete come to all of his bitter family parties, as well.

Now that Pete’s thinking about him— not that he ever isn’t these days— this stupid Stacy chick is a bit like Tom. Not just in the “I want to fight children and anyone who stands in my way” aspect but also in the douchey big glasses and obviously dyed hair. Tom was always a bit of an asshole— something everyone liked to tell Pete whenever Tom wasn’t around— but Pete was also an asshole so it evened out.

Well. It evened out until Tom decided Pete was too much of an asshole for him and walked out a whole month after moving in. Of course, Pete did find out, thanks to social media and his more protective friends, that Tom had really broken up with him because of some fling with their neighbor’s nanny but, somehow, Tom’s parting insistence that it was Pete’s habits and overall personality still stings to think about. 

God, but it’s not even like he really misses Tom. As noted, Tom was an asshole who wanted everything done his way, killed parties the second he walked in, and never even replaced the toilet paper. He had no right to point fingers at Pete’s jealous streak when he was the one calling up other guys in the middle of the night when he thought Pete was sleeping. And, holy fuck, if that wasn’t a testament to how bad their relationship was. Anyone who knows Pete knows he doesn’t fucking sleep. It’s like Pete Wentz 101 and Tom couldn't even pass that.

Despite everything, he was the longest relationship Pete’s ever had, a whopping year and a half, so the sudden single life is strange to grow accustomed to. Tom left just over a month ago and Pete still expects to see a head of dark hair beside him in the morning or hear a gruff voice calling his name whenever he stumbles back into the crappy apartment they’d shared. And, with the sentiments of the holiday season, everything seems to remind Pete of Tom.

Of course, just as Pete’s thinking this, his eyes slide to the glass windows in the front of the store and land on the cute boy peering in at the displays. 

Tom who?

The man outside the shop window appears just a little younger and a lot brighter than Pete, toying with his hat— one of those fedora-like things Pete might have worn in his younger years. As the man outside shifts his weight from foot to foot, Pete finds it impossible to look away. Big blue eyes, magnified by dark-rimmed glasses, shine with the same brilliance as the star-shaped ornaments he’s looking at, some expectant and gentle smile pulling at soft pink lips. Slowly, as if feeling someone’s gaze on him, the man’s hand lowers to tug at the red-brown bangs cascading across his forehead, his smile growing when he catches sight of the spinning ornaments near the other side of the display.

Pete’s in love. He’s sure of it.

His heart jumps and his stomach flips as he watches the boy out there, mouth suddenly dry as he realizes that he needs this woman— still complaining, now about the color options for the stained glass— to shut up and leave so he can go introduce himself to his soulmate. Because that is his soulmate standing out there, he’s sure of it. Why else would this stranger look to be waiting for something if not the destiny of falling in love?

“That’s great feedback,” Pete says, looking up at Stacy— or maybe a Becky, now that she’s lowered her sunglasses to show that weak eyeliner job. “We have an online survey to fill out if you want to continue the, uh, conversation there.”

As Pete fumbles for the survey URL that he never hands out, Stacy-Becky-Bitch pulls out her phone and steps to the side, effectively blocking Pete’s view of his perfect stranger.

“Don’t bother,” she says, no longer looking at Pete. “I’ll just order it online.” 

On any other day, Pete would gladly make himself feel better by mentally making fun of the idiot ordering something just a few weeks before Christmas but, today, he’s feeling great. He’s wonderful, in fact; he’s absolutely ecstatic that he can now run outside and find out the cute boy’s name and ask him on a date and fall in love and—

Stacy turns and storms out. When the cute stranger is back in view, someone else is standing next to him. Someone tall and blonde, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Someone somewhat intimidating with unnaturally large biceps and a pair of oversized sunglasses that don’t look half as douchey as they should. Someone Pete decides he hates.

Someone with his arm around Pete’s soulmate, slowly leading him away.

_ Come back _ traps itself in Pete’s throat, a plea that would only make him sound like a creep. And, yeah, okay, with the guy walking off probably never to be seen again, Pete can admit that it was a little creepy to be so crushed at the sight of him leaving. He doesn’t even know his name, let alone anything that would actually prove they’d be good partners. The last time he jumped into something without thinking, he ended up with Tom, asshole extraordinaire.

Still, Pete thinks as he turns to go find Brendon, something about that man lingers in his mind like the echoes of sleigh bells in the night.

It’s the holidays, he decides. He deserves a bit of a Christmas miracle.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Pete likes to think that the Christmas season means that customers will show some mercy to his employees. 

This, however, is never the case.

All Pete wants for Christmas is one day without some asshole coming into his store to complain about something that isn’t his fault. Already today, he’s dealt with four different mothers crying about expired coupons— coupons he probably handed out last holiday season when they came in to complain then— and one no-show employee. To say it’s been stressful would be a massive understatement. Add in the fact that Christmas crawls closer with each day and Pete is starting to understand the Grinch’s mindset more and more.

He’s prepared to pass out in the breakroom when he’s called away to deal with yet another fiasco.

“There’s some guy who broke an ornament and won’t pay for it,” the poor kid sent to collect the owner says. “And, uh, he’s being pretty mean.”

_ Pretty mean  _ is usually code for  _ trying to make the employees cry _ so Pete groans and picks himself up from the breakroom chair— it’s a sucky chair, anyway— and follows the sound of yelling.

And, god, of course, there’s yelling.

“Do you really think you can get away with blaming a customer on your mistake?” Someone angry is snapping as Pete trudges toward the front. There’s a bit of a crowd already, people watching wide-eyed but refusing to help. “I can have you fired.”

Pete is absolutely certain this man cannot have his employee fired but, just like always, he puts on a polite smile and prepares to suffer.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “What seems to be the problem her—  _ wait. _ ”

Pete catches himself a second too late, eyes wide and mouth open as he looks upon the jerk who’d stolen away his true love yesterday. The tall blond asshole— and he’s totally an asshole— who’d had the nerve to put his hands on the stranger outside and lead him from his soulmate. 

The man raises his eyebrows at Pete’s outburst and Pete averts his gaze, eyes landing on the broken heart ornament laying cracked on the floor. What the fuck? Who breaks a heart ornament? Pete spent hours trying to get the curves just right and the color just so and this idiot thinks he can waltz in here and wreak havoc just because he’s dating some angel and—

Okay. So maybe Pete’s a little jealous. Whatever, the guy broke his ornament, he’s allowed to be upset.

“Do we know each other?” The man asks, sounding like he already knows they don’t. Pete, tense and dying to get this man out of his store  _ right the fuck now _ , shakes his head.

“No, sorry,” he says, forcing himself to look back up. It’s not even like this guy is cute, what the hell? How did he get a guy like the one Pete saw outside? That’s not fair. “You’re just… tall.”

“Right.” Okay, so maybe Pete deserves the incredulous expression that excuse gets him but there’s no reason for this asshole to be such a, well, asshole. “Can we just discuss the accusations being thrown around by your employees?”

Fuck, and he sounds just like Tom with the cool “I don’t give a damn about anyone or anything” tone that comes just after shouting at someone innocent. His beady little eyes even look a bit like Tom if Pete squints and, shit, one Tom was enough. 

“Yeah, sure,” Pete says, soul dying when he looks back at the broken ornament. He really did like that one and was testing the waters with it but it seems fate hated the cheesy Christmas heart idea. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll just—”

“Oh, um, hey. I— I could buy it. If it helps out the store.” 

Somehow, Pete doesn’t need to look to know the soft interruption is his angel. 

He looks anyway.

“What the hell, Patrick?” Tall asshole says. “I’ve got it under control and—”

“Can you, like, calm down for just one day?” The cute bespectacled man from before— Patrick, apparently— adjusts his scarf and glowers adorably at the other man. “It’s an ornament, Sam. I can handle it.”

_ Sam _ . Of course his name is Sam. That’s, like, two letters off from being Tom. 

But Pete doesn’t focus on the comparisons to his ex for long, caught up in the shy smile suddenly turned his way. Does Patrick know his smile is such a disarming weapon? He must, if that glint in his eye is any clue.

“I am really sorry about all this. It’s a cute ornament and… Well, is there somewhere I can check out?” He asks, collecting the cracked decoration from where it had fallen from a decorative display tree to the floor. He cradles the heart in hands covered by the too-long sleeves of his cardigan and, really, Pete’s ready to let him have his heart for free.

“Yeah, of course, I—”

“I can ring you up by the desk,” Hayley, another college kid with too many loans to pay off, cuts in cheerily. Patrick grins gratefully before following her to the back and Pete briefly considers firing his favorite employee. What is it with people taking away his dream boy?

Sam stays put, arms folded across his chest, before he scoffs and leaves the store. It’s a bit terrifying, the way he lingers just outside the doorway as if waiting to ambush his boyfriend when he emerges. 

And Pete just stays put, trying not to have a staredown with the man he now considers his arch nemesis. Already, Pete’s analyzing what little he knows about Sam and Patrick and comparing it to every reason his deluded brain thinks he would make the better partner. Starting with the fact that he doesn’t tower over Patrick like some kind of heathen or—

“Thank you so much,” Patrick gushes as he leaves the store and—

Wait. He’s leaving the store?

Like some kind of cartoon character, Pete jerks back to reality with a jolt of realization down his spine. Patrick’s already out the door, cute little gift bag hanging off his arm, and meeting up with He-Who-Should-Not-Date-Patrick. Without a glance back, the happy couple scurries away.

Pete’s not dramatic enough to call the feeling in his chest a heartbreak but he will settle into the smoldering hatred and defeat that, once again, his perfect stranger has walked out of his life, Pete powerless to stop it. It’s a tragedy, really. Shakespeare wishes he could have witnessed star-crossed lovers such as this.

“Hey,” Hayley calls out, rudely interrupting his pity party. “The afternoon rush should be done with by now and I’ve got the store covered if you wanted to, you know, take that break now.”

“Break?” Pete turns, eyebrows furrowed. Why on earth would he be thinking of a break when Patrick is—  _ OH. _

“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” he says like the intelligent store owner he is. He stumbles his way toward the door, tossing a too wide smile over his shoulder at Hayley— currently shaking her head at his shenanigans. “I’ll, uh. I’ll just be right back, then. From break. Yeah. Break.”

Hayley’s eyebrows raise in the friendly impatience that screams  _ Just go! _

So Pete does.

He doesn’t exactly run out of the store, even if that’s what it feels like as he trips over his feet to follow the direction Patrick and Sam had gone when leaving. He likes to imagine it’s some cosmic sign that, a few moments later, he catches sight of Patrick’s hat heading towards the exit but, really, it’s more likely the result of the couple’s slow walking as they bicker.

And, well, Pete’s not all that surprised to see them bicker.

Patrick’s face is red even from where Pete’s standing, his grip on the  _ Hourglass  _ gift bag tight as he holds it close to his side, seeming afraid that Sam might take it. And Sam leers over Patrick with a mean scowl, mouth moving rapid-fire as he spits out words that Pete can’t hear but are obviously adding to the color on Patrick’s cheeks.

This…  this might make things just a bit more difficult. What the hell is Pete supposed to do? Offer the fighting couple some coupons?

He pats down his pockets and realizes that, fuck, he doesn’t even have coupons. So that plan’s out.

Pete follows the two to the front parking lot, feeling like a total stalker with each desperate attempt to get closer. He doesn’t know what he’ll say if they see him but Patrick’s pretty pout is enough to keep him going.

Finally, outside, the couple stops at the edge of the sidewalk, Pete still waiting by the door as their conversation falls upon his ears.

“All I’m saying is that you need to realize how embarrassing it is to have you step in like that,” Sam’s saying, hands now in his pockets and his mouth twisted into an ugly frown. “It makes it seem like my own boyfriend doesn’t think I can handle some petty mall shit.”

“You broke their stuff,” Patrick says back, though his voice is softer than Sam’s angry growls. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to get back home on time. Or would you rather I let that argument drag on forever? God knows you don’t know when to stop.”

“Holy shit, are you really that stupid?” The words slip from Sam’s mouth as if they’re said every day, Patrick flinching and Pete ready to slit Sam’s throat on his behalf. But Pete finds he can’t move, stunned by the cruelty before him. “It’s not a fucking argument, you’re just overdramatic. That’s why it’s better if you leave that stuff to me. You never really see things for how they are. God, no wonder you’re always embarrassing yourself.”

At this, Patrick falls silent, kicking at the sidewalk with a pathetic trembling in his hands. 

“I was just trying to help.” He’s not as impassioned as before, Pete straining to hear the quiet voice. It hurts, the way Patrick hesitates to speak.

It hurts even more when Sam shakes his head, scoffing as he does so. 

“Well, no one needed you to.” He pauses and only Pete seems aware of how Patrick’s staring at the sidewalk now, how Patrick’s shuffling away from Sam. “I’m gonna go pull up the car. Wait here.”

And Patrick does, silent as Sam walks off.

Now would be the time for Pete to step forward, right? To offer some company to the lonely boy and tell him what a piece of shit his boyfriend is. Now would be the time to explain that no one should speak to anyone like that— let alone someone as gently beautiful and perfectly lovely as Patrick. Standing alone in the December chill, nothing but a scarf and cardigan to keep him warm, Patrick looks like he could use someone, anyone. A friend, at least.

But Pete doesn’t move. He hates himself for it but it doesn’t change a thing. What can he do other than slander some stranger’s partner? What can he do but admit that he finds Patrick pretty and would really like for him to break up with Sam? He doesn’t know a thing about Patrick other than the fact that he’s nice to look at and is capable of showing some form of decency to mall employees. Other than that, though? Pete knows nothing. So, he can do nothing.

Besides, Pete remembers his relationship with his own personal asshole. Sometimes Tom would scream at Pete over stupid things; sometimes Pete would insult Tom just because he could. It was toxic as hell and Pete’s an idiot for not realizing it earlier but he knows better than most that sometimes it takes two idiots to fight.

Still, when Sam’s car sidles up to the curb and Patrick steps inside, Pete can’t help but regret his silence. Patrick stares out the window with an empty expression and Pete ducks behind a sign advertising all the Christmas sales, watching as, once again, his true love is taken away.

And Pete, as always, can do nothing to stop it.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

The next morning, Pete pulls into the mall parking lot with the kind of headache only a night of restless sleep over hopeless crushes can bring. It’s early— earlier than even he, the owner of the store, likes to show up— but he could only spend time alone in his apartment for so long. Besides, why not make a habit of getting to work early? If anything, he could always use it as an excuse for leaving early, too.

Still. His head drops to the steering wheel and he sighs. He’s kidding himself if he thinks showing up early is going to help anything. With all the resignation of someone whose dreams were dashed long ago, he reaches for the door handle and prepares to face another day of fake cheeriness and the hope that his little knickknacks will make someone smile— even if that someone is just him.

His door has barely clicked open, cracked just enough for him to shudder at the winter air, when he hears it. The voices.

No, not the voice of last night’s self-doubt; they’re the voices of a couple he spent most of the night thinking about.

Sam and Patrick.

Their frustrated tones carry into his car, riding on the snowy wind as he keeps still and hopes they haven’t noticed them. They’re parked a few spots away, the only other people in this otherwise deserted lot.

“Come on, it’s just ridiculous,” Patrick says, standing outside the car with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Pete leans back in his seat, hoping not to be seen, even as he opens his door a bit more to hear what they have to say. They seem to have pulled in a bit ago, probably while Pete was lamenting his life.

“What’s ridiculous is how childish you’re being. All I want is for you to return the damn ornament and get your money back. We’re here for  _ you _ ,” Sam says out the window, thrusting the  _ Hourglass  _ bag back at Patrick’s chest. Patrick fumbles to catch it, huffing as he does so. “Don’t tell me you really wanted to waste your money on that stupid thing.”

“Well, maybe I do,” Patrick says. “I really don’t mind it, okay? Besides, don’t you think it’d be cute? We barely have any other decorations other than the tree and it can be a small memento for us so—”

“Ew, no.” Sam’s hidden by Patrick but Pete can still hear the wrinkled expression in his voice. “You know I don’t like sentimental shit like that. Look, I’m gonna go meet with some guys from work and when I come back I want the thing gone. I even dropped you off early so you don’t have to worry about the crowds and that dumb anxiety of yours.”

“Dumb anxi— You’re so rude, you know that?” Patrick asks, looking a second away from stomping his feet on the ground and storming off. Sam scoffs and Patrick’s voice shrinks, a sad sound that both eviscerates and overwhelms Pete entirely. “Come on, it’s almost Christmas. Why can’t you just be nice for once?”

Now, Pete doesn’t know much about Sam but he does know enough that he winces long before Patrick’s done speaking. Sam’s taller than Patrick, probably stronger, and that’s just the physical part; even if he never puts a hand on him, a thought that has Pete choking down his need to run Sam over, he still obviously knows what words will hurt the most. A moment passes and then Sam’s anger fills the air.

“Oh, so I’m not fucking nice to you now? Yeah, alright, that makes sense,” he snaps, an ice-cold tone wrapped around the fiery words. “Remind me, again, whose apartment you’re living in? Who pays for everything while you finish off the loans for a college education you don’t even use? Who got your job? Who puts up with every issue you have? And you can’t even return the favor when I ask for something as simple as returning a useless piece of glass?”

Patrick’s suspiciously quiet, shoulders hunched together as Pete watches, once again unable to move and save the boy he’s sure he has a crush on. It’s not his place, he tells himself; there’s nothing for him to do.

“Just call me when you’re done,” Sam says, finishing his rant against Patrick. “I’ll meet you out front.”

Pete can’t tell whether Patrick stays silent or if he’s so quiet Pete doesn’t hear him. Either way, Sam rolls up his window and drives off, leaving Patrick shivering in the parking lot. He seems to have a habit of doing that.

As Pete watches, Patrick begins the slow trudge to the mall’s front doors, the bag still cradled against his chest. He takes his time, pausing every few steps as if knowing only a handful of employees are inside.

Employees. Like Pete. 

Pete scrambles to get out of his car, barely missing his fingers when he slams the door shut. Patrick turns at the sound echoing through the otherwise empty lot, eyebrows raising when he spots Pete racing toward him.

It’s not that Pete’s trying to catch up with him, okay? He’s just trying to clock in on time. 

At least, that’s what he’ll tell Patrick if he asks. 

Not that Patrick does. Instead, Patrick’s face softens into a smile and he points at Pete with something like excitement in his tone. 

“Oh, I know you. You’re the guy from the ornament shop,” he says, grinning brightly even as he rubs at his eyes. The action could pass for the aching exhaustion of morning but something about his red cheeks and overly happy tone tells Pete that Sam’s words had a greater impact than he had thought. “I saw you there yesterday, right?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, struggling to find the line between not-smiling-enough and smiling-way-too-much as he looks at Patrick. “We didn’t meet properly, though. I’m Pete.”

“Cool,” Patrick says, shaking Pete’s hand. “I’m Patrick.”

“I kn— Yeah. Cool name,” Pete says. What is it about this man’s face and voice that has Pete acting like a total fool?

Luckily, Patrick merely laughs and shifts the bag around in his arms. “Hey, so, um. I know it’s early but is the shop open? Your shop, that is.”

Continuing the pattern of not paying attention to anything other than Patrick’s big blinking eyes and the give of his lips when he presses them together, Pete nods eagerly.

“Yeah— Wait. Well.” Pete pauses, considering the fact that he’s going to be alone in the shop for another hour or so if he opens it now. Then, he considers the fact that he’s going to be alone with Patrick for a while if he opens it now. That easily changes any hesitation. “Yeah, it’s open. You can come with me, I just need to unlock the doors and set up.”

“Oh, you’re still setting up?” Patrick takes a step back as if distancing himself from his previous remark. “I can totally, like, wait, then. I don’t want to be in your way or—”

“I literally just have to unlock the doors and turn on the lights,” Pete says with what he hopes is a calming smile; he’s pretty sure it comes across a bit more suspicious, going by Patrick’s still startled expression. “Come on, we can head that way together.”

It’s a simple statement to imagine saying but Pete feels bolder than he ever has when he tells Patrick this, his smile wavering just a bit in the second before Patrick nods.

“Okay, if you’re sure it won’t bother you,” he says, an eyebrow raised as he double-checks. Pete waves him off, his mind an entire essay of exclamation points as he and Patrick walk side-by-side into the store.

Not to be dramatic but Pete’s pretty sure he’s never felt this way— so excited, so overjoyed— with anyone before.

Still, there’s a thread of nerves inside each feeling— a constant prickling reminder that Patrick has a boyfriend and that Pete has no right to even think of dating him. But when Patrick smiles at him shyly as Pete unlocks the doors to the store— an act that takes four tries thanks to his shaking hands— Pete can’t help but conveniently forget about all of the Sams and Toms in the world.

Pete steps inside first, flicking on the store lights and shutting off the cheap alarm system provided by the mall. He’s used to what comes next but Pete knows Patrick isn’t so he turns with an expectant smile as the lights flicker on.

When the lights hit each fragment and facet of glass in the room, everything seems to glow. Rainbows bounce off the walls and ceiling, reflections of light scattering across the floor as Pete adjusts the brightness and focus of the overhead bulbs. Everything is strategically placed, every display pained over in planning, until he knows for sure what will look most appealing. It’s a stupid self-indulgent thing, smiling at colors and sparkles every day, but it’s also something magical.

When he turns, ready to pretend he doesn’t know Patrick’s here to return his ornament, the magic only grows.

Patrick walks slowly past all the displays, his eyes soft and reverent as he takes each one in. The light reflections dance across his cheeks and hair, painting a brighter smile across his face when he laughs warmly at the little animal figurines set up in a corner. He pays no attention to Pete as he glances around, gasping softly at a glass clock hanging from the wall and staring openly at the more intricate snowflake ornaments decorating one of the many Christmas trees in the shop. He looks at everything like he didn’t have the chance to appreciate it before, fingertips reaching but never touching whatever beauty he finds in Pete’s work.

It’d be easy for Pete to start a conversation here, to list off random facts about each piece, but doing so would break the spell Patrick’s cast by his presence alone. No, this moment doesn’t need Pete’s voice or input; it’s happy enough with the ethereal beauty of stained glass and Patrick.

God, Pete’s so in love.

Too soon, Patrick makes it to the customer service counter next to Pete, eyes still lingering on whatever piece of glass he can find, before he sighs and places the bag down on the desk before them.

“I, um, I don’t know if you remember but I bought this ornament yesterday,” he says, already sounding embarrassed. “My boyfriend kinda broke it— he didn’t mean to, he’s just clumsy. And I know it’s probably really annoying when people do this but, uh, he wants me to return it. If I can. If that’s okay. You don’t need to worry about refunding me or anything, it’ll be fine if you just take it back. I just think he doesn’t want it in the house.”

His shame is palpable; he’s embarrassed enough of it for the both of them. It floods Patrick’s face in burning red shades and pinkish hues that would look absolutely delightful in any other situation.

Pete needs to do something to change that. Now.

“I can fix it up for you,” he says, nodding towards the bag. If he remembers correctly, it was a clean spiderweb of cracks through the center, nearly in half but not quite. It’d be a pain to hide the mistake but it’s not like he has anything better to do— his actual job aside. “If you want.”

“If I—” Patrick trails, seemingly forgetting his shame as he squints at Pete. “You can do that?”

On literally anyone else, Pete would hate the skepticism. On Patrick, though, it’s rather endearing and Pete smiles at the chance to show off.

“Well, yeah,” he says, incapable of hiding his self-satisfied smirk as he points around the shop. “I’m the owner, you know. I train employees to work with the glass but a good 90 percent of this stuff is an original Pete Wentz design.”

“Wait, really? You make… You actually make all this?” It’s not the same suspicion as before in Patrick’s tone, the cynicism replaced with something wondrous and breathless as Patrick looks around the store with new eyes. They light up behind his glasses, as wide and awestruck as his smile, but it’s only for a moment, dimming the second he’s looking back at Pete. “That’s… That’s really amazing. You’re so talented and I’m in love with all of this, wow. But I can’t have you wasting time on this thing. Sam will just be upset if I bring it home again. Oh, I appreciate the offer, though!”

Patrick is so sweet it physically pains Pete not to ask him what the hell he’s doing with someone like Sam. 

“Alright, then,” he says, Patrick’s dejection spreading to Pete as he steps behind the counter and opens the register, counting through bills to refund Patrick’s purchase.

“Oh, really, you don’t need to do that.” Patrick’s red again but it’s not the awful shade it was before. This one’s lighter, rosier, and Pete can’t help but smile at it.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, something about Patrick’s frantic voice asking him to keep his own soft and calm. He looks down, counting through the amount, and then hands the bills over to Patrick. Patrick’s reluctant, his lips pressed together tightly, but he gives in with a huff, taking the money as if accepting a bribe.

His fingers brush across Pete’s during the exchange, a moment of ecstasy as Pete thrums with the contact. It shudders across his body in a way he’s never felt, a dazzling stretch of sparks along his skin, and his eyes snap up to see if Patrick felt it, too.

But Patrick’s not looking at him, those eyes focused instead on the Christmas tree in the corner.

“You don’t have any other heart ones?” He asks though it sounds more like a statement. Indeed, the tree’s lacking any similar shapes, decorated instead by snowflakes, crosses, and picture frames waiting to be filled. 

“The heart was, uh, experimental, I guess,” Pete says, wincing at how lame it sounds out loud. “I never actually know what people like so I’ll put a new one out on a display and wait to see if people ask about it.”

“Oh.” Patrick doesn’t expand on the simple thought, his lip caught between his teeth once more. The silence stretches out between them like a beam of light, warm but impossible to break. 

Impossible. That is until Pete flounders for words and comes up with a messy few.

“You know, if you, uh, if you want something personalized, I can do that for you,” he says, flushing at the way Patrick looks to him, both shocked that Pete is speaking. “We don’t do it often but I can make something for you if you like. You just need to ask.”

It’s stupid and it’s idiotic and Pete can barely believe he’s saying it. A personalized ornament? Really? That’s the best he can do? He should have just gone with the coupons.

But then he looks back up, surprised he was ever able to tear his eyes away from Patrick in the first place, and Patrick is smiling, the expression as delicate as a snowflake in the wind.

“I’d like that,” he says with a voice to match his grin. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Time moves faster than Pete can think and, too soon, he’s behind on his own Christmas shopping. He can— and does— blame it on his busy job but that excuse only works so many birthdays and Christmases in a row.

So. On his one day off, he wanders the crowds of the mall in search for suitable presents. Hayley had rolled her eyes at his insistence that it was for convenience but both of them knew, deep down, it was because he can’t bear to be too far from his precious store. Already, an hour of fruitless shopping has passed and he’s checked up on  _ Hourglass  _ a total of seven times. It’s gotten to the point where Hayley’s threatening to call security if he shows up again. He doesn’t doubt she’d actually do it.

Pete’s heading for one of the athletic shops on the upper-level when he hears a very promising sound coming from the front of the mall: Patrick’s voice.

Granted, he sounds distressed and more than a little pissed off but Pete turns without considering the implications, honing in on Patrick’s voice like a dog following a whistle. Sure enough, his pretty crush and his crush’s terrible towering boyfriend are arguing once again. This time by the escalators.

Look. It’s not like Pete’s invested in eavesdropping on every one of their domestic disputes but they always have it out so publically and so emotionally and, really, Pete just wants to make sure Patrick’s okay. And, right now, he doesn’t seem to be. He’s red-faced once again and his arms are crossed over his chest as Sam rambles on about the rules for gift-shopping this year. Sam himself has got some confused expression on his face when Patrick sighs heavily. Or maybe it’s a stupid expression; it’s so hard to tell the difference on him.

“I’m loaning you my card. I don’t think it’s that big of a request to remind you not to spend too much.” Sam’s voice is, at least, not as brash as it had been the other day. He truly seems to believe he’s being reasonable even as he treats his own boyfriend like a child.

Patrick juts his chin out, hiding behind the bangs falling over his glasses. Pete pointedly does not think of how nice it would be to brush his hair back for him. No matter how soft said hair looks.

“Well, gee, maybe if you would let me get a real job I’d be able to pay for my own damn stuff,” he says, more upset than Pete’s seen him. Not that Pete’s seen him a ton but the temper is a new trait to add to the charming personality. 

Sam rolls his eyes, face-palming as he does so. 

“You’re really still upset about that? Babe, it was a fucking studio gig. You’d never be home and it’s not like the pay would be all that different from what you have now.” He peeks out from between his fingers, a rather disturbing sight. “Besides, you do have a job— one that’s helping my band out. Don’t tell me you don’t like the marketing position I got you with the radio. You're great at sneaking our tunes in with the other shit.”

Anyone with eyes can tell just how much Patrick “likes” the marketing position Sam got him and Pete has to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from snorting at just how dead inside Patrick looks when Sam brings it up. It’s not that Pete doesn’t feel bad for him— his heart still does a pathetic little twist whenever he hears Sam speaking with Patrick— but the complete defeat of this expression is preferable to the shaking sorry one Patrick had been wearing before.

“Sure,” Patrick says, sounding just as done as he looks. He jams his hands into his pockets and shrugs stiffly. “I’ll call you when I’m done. As usual.”

He begins to storm off, Pete mentally cheering for him, but stops when Sam grabs his arm.

“Aw, Rick, don’t be mad,” he says, flicking Patrick’s hair from his face and enraging Pete in the process. “Give me a kiss before you go?”

While Pete is all for proper consent and respect and the like, he’s pretty sure that having to ask your boyfriend for a simple “see you later” kiss is a sign that things might not be as rosy as one might think. 

Sure enough, despite Patrick’s closed off expression, Sam leans in and practically crushes Patrick’s lips with his own, paying no attention to how tense Patrick’s gotten or how tightly he’s shutting his eyes. His grip on Patrick’s arm visibly tighten and he pulls him closer until Patrick softens and kisses him back.

Pete pretty much wants to either die or kill Sam and he’s sincerely debating the pros and cons of each when Patrick turns and spots him. Both turn red at the exact same time, Patrick’s a more violent shade.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” he says, checking over his shoulder to where Sam’s walking off. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine,” Pete replies even though it isn’t. Patrick deserves better than forced kisses in crappy malls and mean words during the season of peace on earth. Hell, he deserves better than Pete’s brand of obsessive, the jealous streak and late night phone calls, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is the plainness of the statement that Patrick doesn’t deserve Sam. 

So, while Pete is far from perfect, he knows he can still treat Patrick in a manner far greater than Sam could ever hope to. He can’t give him roses and miracles but, for one day, he can give him a smile.

It’s this thought that has him walking to Patrick’s side. It’s this thought that has him grinning like they’re old friends.

“I’m doing some Christmas shopping,” he says, watching Patrick’s eyes light up with what he hopes is curiosity. “Care to join me?” 

When Patrick smiles back and agrees without hesitation, Pete finally understands what it means when something just feels  _ right _ .

He lets Patrick pick the stores, following him on a quest for scarves and hats and sugar-free chocolates. He’s meticulous about his shopping, an organized list typed out in his phone and every detail ready to fly at any nearby worker if asked for assistance. 

“My sister specifically needs dark chocolate or she’ll toss it in the trash,” he says at a candy store an hour or so later, the words muddled by the free taffy samples he and Pete had shamelessly plucked from the counter. “And my dad can’t have sugar or I’m pretty sure he’ll die.”

It’s a dark joke but Pete laughs all the same, scattering chunks of brightly colored candy into the air. It’s absolutely disgusting but Patrick does the same when he laughs at Pete’s laughter. Pete’s more concerned with just how warm he feels when standing so close to Patrick. 

“Okay, okay,” Pete says, trying to calm down as the clerk gives them a dirty look. The scowl is rather unfair, he decides, considering the actual children sneaking skittles into their pockets. “We’ve got earbuds for your brother, scarves for your mom, and a bunch of random candy for your sister and dad. Is there anyone else before we move onto the extended family?”

Patrick swallows his taffy and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his list of loved ones and dropping his smile as he reaches the end.

Pete knows what he’s going to say before he actually says it.

“Oh, Sam, I guess,” he says. “But I’m using his card so I don’t know if that counts.”

Pete hums, buying time as he tries not to tell Patrick what an asshole his boyfriend is. “You don’t have your own?” 

“No,” Patrick says. If he’s trying not to sound bitter, he’s failing horribly. “I mean, okay, yeah. I have my own account, obviously, but Sam doesn’t like me charging to it since he can’t check what I buy.”

“That’s—” That’s a whole lot of  _ yikes  _ Pete wants to say but he bites it back, going for a more subtle approach. “That’s fucked up.”

Okay. So it wasn’t subtle. What matters is that it was true.

Doesn’t mean Patrick seems to appreciate it, though.

“Excuse me?” He asks. Pete pretends the irritation in his tone is leftover frustration from Sam’s overcontrolling antics. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not my place to say anything but Sam kinda seems like, well, a jerk.” That’s putting it lightly. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” 

“I’m not putting up with anything,” Patrick says with a sigh, leaning back and looking at Pete with eyes that keep flicking away from his face. “He doesn’t control me entirely, you know. I could easily leave him if I wanted.”

“Uh-huh.” Pete pauses but ultimately decides, what the hell, might as well ask. “So why don’t you want to?”

Patrick looks absolutely stricken at the question and Pete wonders why no one’s ever asked him that before. He’s a little gray and a bit cross-eyed, thinking to himself as Pete regrets asking.

“I’m not telling you because I think I have to explain myself to you,” Patrick starts, sounding too much like some kid reading from a script. Pete wonders how many times Patrick’s thought these exact words, how many times he’s justified his shitty relationship with whatever excuses his mind can concoct. “He’s just… We’ve been together a long time. Like, since high school long time. And he wasn’t like this back then. He was sweet and the only guy willing to talk to the fat band nerd and… He’s just stressed recently, you know? And I don’t expect you to understand that but  _ I  _ understand it. I’m the only one who understands Sam’s temper and how to get him to calm down and, like. He just needs me. We’ve had a few breaks in our relationship but they’re never good for, uh, for him. I know it doesn’t seem like it but we do work well together. You just have to get to know him.”

Pete feels sick with each word, trying to find a delicate way to explain to Patrick that his relationship is toxic— more toxic, perhaps, than even the one Pete just escaped. But he doesn’t know how to explain to Patrick that his partner shouldn’t need him in order to stay stable. Patrick shouldn’t feel like he has to stay and he shouldn’t be looking so sad as he says it.

“You know, maybe, like—”

“Was that a fro-yo place I saw a few shops back?” Patrick cuts in, walking past Pete and out of the shop. His motions are quick and jerky like he doesn’t really know if he wants to stand by Pete or leave him. “Or maybe we can check out the food court and see what sweets they have. The candy in here totally has me craving more.”

Pete follows Patrick with heavy steps of his own, trying to play along with the subject change but failing to put a smile back on his face. Patrick turns, his overeager grin faltering when he catches sight of Pete’s nervous frown.

“What?” Patrick asks and Pete wants to pretend his voice isn’t wavering, wants to believe he didn’t force that happy grin. “Come on, I’ll have to call Sam in a bit to pick me up. Let’s just… Let’s just have some fun, alright?”

Pete licks his lips, his mouth dry and fumbling. 

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I.” He takes a deep breath and glances at one of those large display maps of the level even though he has the mall’s layout memorized. Anything to look away from Patrick’s bright eyes; anything to distract him from what he can’t have. “There’s this awesome ice cream spot on the lower level if you wanted to check them out. I actually know the guy who owns it so we can probably get some sort of discount if he’s in.”

Patrick’s smile is more genuine than before when Pete looks over this time but there’s still something strange about it. Nothing sad or dismal or distressed just… strange. Pete’s certain he’s seen it before, a fragment of brilliance, but he can’t place his finger on where. It’s the first thing about Patrick that truly bothers him— the elusiveness of his smiles.

“How lucky am I that I get to hang out with a mall insider?” Patrick jokes, following Pete when he clears his throat and leads them to the ice cream shop below. “I’m sure you know all the mall secrets.”

“Not all of them,” Pete says, teasing back. “Just enough to seem impressive.”

And it does feel a little impressive when he greets the shop owner with a hug and is able to get both their ice creams for free. It feels impressive when he shows Patrick short-cuts to the elevators and when he tells stupid stories about catching kids making out in the employee-only areas.

It’s near one such area that Pete catches sight of that enigmatic grin again. There’s something special about it, Pete decides. There’s something he needs to discover within it.

“You have the best smile I’ve ever seen,” Pete says before he can think of stopping himself. Patrick’s eyes widen and his face goes red and Pete thinks it’s just wrong that he doesn’t seem used to a compliment as true as that.

“Shut up,” Patrick says, coughing to cover his obvious bashfulness. “I have ice cream, like, all over my face.”

“Not all over. Just by the corner.” Pete’s still not thinking when he presses his thumb to the edge of Patrick’s mouth, when he slides it down below the plush pout of his bottom lip, when he lets the touch linger for a second longer than it needs to.

But, by the way Patrick’s looking at him, it doesn’t seem like Patrick’s thinking, either.

The moment is a heartbeat, snapped like thin sheets of glass when Patrick steps away. 

“I should, uh… I need to call Sam. Let him know to pick me up,” he says, struggling to reach words that should come easy. “It was nice spending time with you, though.”

Pete hears himself agree, hears himself offer to walk Patrick to the exit, but his mind is nothing more than a running line of  _ he’s leaving he’s leaving he’s leaving again— _

“Too bad you didn’t get any shopping done,” Patrick says carefully, looking down at the locked screen of his phone. “I kinda hogged all your time.”

The casual  _ I don’t mind  _ perches on the tip of Pete’s tongue, an automatic response constructed by his inability to think whenever Patrick’s around.

But then Patrick looks up from under his lashes and maybe it’s the light or maybe it’s Pete own foolish desires but he seems to be asking for something more than a planned remark.

“Oh,” Pete says, his dignity saved by the net of Patrick’s smile. “Well, I guess, you can always come help me next time if you really feel bad.”

Another simple comment; another breath to hold. 

Patrick’s smile cracks through the silence like the sun. It’s insane to stare at the brilliance for too long. 

It’s insane to ever look away.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Pete doesn’t really expect Patrick to come back the next day, smiling shyly at the customer service desk and asking what time Pete goes on break. And he certainly doesn’t expect him to come back the day after that or the day after that, again and again for a week. Sam’s never with him these days and Pete’s too scared to bring him up even though he knows better than to mess around with a taken man. Every day, he tells himself he needs to step out of this pursuit of Patrick. Just as easily, he talks himself back into it.

Because it’s easy to fall for Patrick, to look at that smile and wonder how he ever lived without it. Every second is a slow, long shock down Pete’s spine; every moment together is the pad of his finger against a shard of glass, waiting for the beauty to finally cut him. He knows this can’t last forever, not as long as Sam’s in the background, but Pete never asked for a forever. He just wants that smile.

And that smile, god, that smile. It takes a few days but Pete finally figures it out. In the middle of the food court, sharing fries and fighting about ketchup versus ranch, Pete figures it out.

Patrick smiles like glass. When he truly means it, he smiles like glass.

It’s not uncommon, that smile of Patrick’s, but it’s still impossible to spot at first. It’s hidden in plain sight, a shard of something woefully unrecognized by a world too impatient to notice its importance. But if Pete watches long enough, if he changes his angle just enough, Patrick’s smile reflects the light of his heart more beautifully than any other object in the world.

And Pete is the mindless creature chasing after each reflection, a puzzled kitten following the flick of each laser beam on the walls.

Patrick smiles; Patrick laughs.

Pete wouldn’t have it any other way.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Patrick shines brighter than the dull lights of the mall or the street lamps that bounce off Sam’s car whenever he drops him off. His smile is a collection of stars and his eyes are the rainbow refractions of glass art. 

So it’s a shame that, no matter how he pretends not to be bothered by it, Sam won’t be giving him a meaningful present for Christmas this year.

“It’s fine,” Patrick says, a streak of bitterness across his otherwise unbothered face. “It’s just because he’s switched jobs recently so he’s been a bit too busy to really save up or, like, look. He left his last job to become this local musician in some band. They’re not the biggest or best but it seems enjoyable.”

Pete latches onto the note of wistfulness, leaning back against the wall outside one of the mall’s bookstores. Truthfully, he finished his own shopping online over the weekend but it’s not like he’s going to give up his one reason to see Patrick.

“Enjoyable?” Pete echoes, hands in his pockets. “Have you ever thought of doing the same, then?”

“Only all the time,” Patrick laughs, adjusting his glasses and looking away with a soft blush coating his cheeks. “But we really only have time for one working musician in the relationship so, I mean. Yeah. Maybe if Sam makes it big he’ll let me tag along.”

Patrick’s forced nonchalance leaves a sour taste in the back of Pete’s mouth, something cold and rotten as he gazes out across the couples and families dotting the mall’s crowds. Laughing at absurd decorations, smiling at the string of lights above each store, teasing each other without either partner seeming ashamed or afraid of the other. It’s not fair that neither Pete or Patrick can really understand how that feels.

“Well, let me know if you ever try it out. I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise,” Pete says in a low voice, dropping his eyes to the sticky dirtied floors beneath their feet. Patrick laughs like he thinks Pete’s joking but Pete shakes his head, looking up to baby blue eyes. “No, I mean it. I’ll show up to each show with signs and everything. You deserve someone who’ll support that since not even—” 

Pete cuts off, incapable of even saying Sam’s name. Patrick steps closer, slowly, as if he’s unaware he’s doing so. 

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick says, sounding like he’s smiling but also sounding like he doesn’t know what else to do. “I do have other friends, you know. It’s not like it’s me against the world just because my boyfriend can be a dick. And I explained that to you already. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh, he just, for some reason, he—”

“He needs you. Right.” Now that Patrick’s started it, Pete can’t keep his mind away from the arguments and insults he’d heard, the shame-faced looks and shaking hands. It’s not right in any sense and Sam’s not around to snap at; Patrick is. “That’s not actually how that’s supposed to work, you know. Fixing somebody isn’t the same as loving them and no one who loves their boyfriend would make him feel like he has to. You deserve someone who won’t make you feel like shit all the time.”

“Come on, stop joking. It’s not all the time.” Still, Patrick doesn’t step away. He doesn’t turn, not even when Pete closes the distance between them by taking a step forward. They’re still, the two of them calm even in the shadows of such loud and bustling crowds.

“It’s not a joke. I just want to see you happy, that’s all. You should always be happy,” Pete says, voice dropping. Patrick’s close now, close enough that Pete can see the soft tremble in his lower lip, close enough that Pete can imagine just how easy it would be to lean in and— 

—and there’s nothing stopping him, not really. No one’s watching and Patrick has yet to move away and Sam’s an asshole who could never treat Patrick the way he deserves. Patrick should be smiling, always smiling, and Pete doesn’t care who puts the smile on his face, he swears; he just prefers that it be him.

“Patrick,” Pete says, more to say his name and feel the familiar thrill of excitement roll down his spine whenever he thinks of Patrick. A hand finds Patrick’s arm, moves to his shoulder, and pauses. Pete’s other hand wraps around Patrick’s; it’s unclear who reaches out to the other first. “Tell me when to stop.”

And, like every snowflake melting into the ground and like every Christmas wish on every lip, Pete shuts his eyes and kisses Patrick.

Patrick’s still at first but it only lasts a second, only lasts a heartbeat, and then he’s sighing against Pete’s lips and pressing back against him. He kisses back like it’s the only one he’ll ever have, Pete’s name in his throat each time they break apart only to surge back in. And Pete basks in it, burns in it, memorizing the sensation of Patrick’s warmth and skin and lips as he pulls him even closer than before. Patrick smiles and, god, Pete just barely clings to what’s left of his own self-control as he feels the radiant twist of Patrick’s lips against his.

But then it’s gone. A sheet of white hiding a holiday scene; a shattered ornament with shards too sharp to touch.

Patrick pushes and pulls all at once, tugging free from Pete’s arms and shoving Pete back with a firm press against his chest.

“No, wait, I. Shit, I—” He sounds as tortured as Pete feels but his eyes are hardened fragments of glass, cutting Pete with every passing second. “I… Fuck, I have a boyfriend. You know I have a boyfriend.”

Pete knows better than to point out how Patrick met him in the middle, how he clung to Pete and how, even now, he’s gasping in feeble attempts to regain the breath he’d lost. He knows better than to taunt but he doesn’t know well enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, and your boyfriend sucks,” he snaps, hating the mere mention of Sam pressing against the spark still simmering on Pete’s lips, an aftereffect of Patrick’s touch. “You shouldn’t have to be with him.”

“Oh, and I guess you’d say I should be with you instead?” Patrick’s gone red and Pete can’t name the source. Still, it’s too easy to pinpoint the budding frustration. 

“What? No! I mean, well, I. It’s like you said. It’s almost Christmas and he—” Pete can’t speak when Patrick’s looking at him like he’s the enemy, like he’s the asshole who calls him stupid and unnecessary and childish. And he blames his words on these thoughts now blurring every other option, the memories of Sam leaving Patrick shaking and trembling and alone. He blames it on Sam; he blames everything on Sam. “I just want you to be happy. Are you so dumb you can’t even understand that?”

And Patrick’s eyes— his heart and soul— flare. Like bombs going off behind the imperfect protection of bulletproof glass, like fire licking at windows from inside a burning home, like a warning Pete should have heeded— they flare.

“Clearly, you’re the one not understanding.” Patrick’s tone is clipped, cold, and Pete goes numb from the very sound. “I already explained everything to you. I’m not doing it again.”

“Wait. Patrick, wait.” Pete’s calling for him before Patrick’s fully turned around, sick with the knowledge that he nothing to bring him back. Just a first name and the details of his face— the details of how he can kiss. Not enough to find him should Patrick refuse to return. Not nearly enough to beg for forgiveness, though Pete tries anyway. “I didn’t mean it. I’d never mean it, I swear, I just want to—”

Patrick turns, already a good few feet away from where he’d been. He grants Pete a withering look, a hollow smile. His eyes, wonders of nature, are now nothing but cement meadows— empty lots waiting to be found and filled with something greater.

“Have a nice Christmas,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll see you again before then.”

And Pete can only watch, heart cracking, as Patrick turns and loses himself in the crowds of joyful Christmas cheer.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

It’s almost depressing how the absence of one person can have all of Pete’s holiday spirits screeching to a halt. Days pass like prison sentences in  _ Hourglass  _ and he only shows up in hopes that Patrick will, too. He takes longer shifts— longer and longer until he’s working open to close any day that he can drag himself out bed and back into the place where he lost Patrick.

Not that he ever  _ had  _ Patrick to begin with, another terrible thought that has Pete choking on regrets. He should have never pushed for more, should have never brought up Sam. He should have been content as friends, content as acquaintances, content as strangers and should have never been fool enough to get involved with pretty blue eyes and rare dashing smiles.

But he did and it’s far too late for the shoulda-woulda-coulda's of past mistakes haunting him like Christmas ghosts. All he can do is wait for Patrick to show; not that he ever does. Weekdays fade into weekends and every shift is worse than the last. When it’s finally the week before Christmas, Pete feels ready to give up hope.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do the closing shifts this week?” Hayley asks one day, interrupting Pete’s moping as another person— another person that wasn’t Patrick— walks off with some silly ornament in their bag. “I really don’t think it’s healthy for you to be spending so much time here.”

“It’s fine, I promise,” Pete says, refusing to meet Hayley’s eyes because he just knows she’ll call him out for lying if he does. “Just… Go ahead and clock out, alright? I got the rest.”

Hayley purses her lips but, in the end, it is nearly the holidays and she is still a college student.

“I’m only agreeing because I have to go back to school next month and I, unlike some people, actually value my free time,” she says. Pete wonders when he became so lenient a boss that his employees speak to him in such a way but, after the week he’s had, disrespect is the least of his problems. He waves goodbye to Hayley, supervises as the rest of his staff clocks out for the night, and then waits.

Thirty minutes until closing. Maybe tonight will be the night Patrick comes back. Pete knows it’s selfish— god, he knows it’s selfish— but he needs Patrick like he needs light. Without Patrick’s smile, Pete’s been reduced to seeing shadows instead of brilliance, ragged dark gaps in reality that haunt him like empty eye sockets. His own personal Ghost of Christmas Future, promising a life of solitude because he pushed his true love away.

He glances back at the clock. Twenty-nine minutes until closing. The vision of a lonely life seems more possible than ever before.

But, more than the clock, he glances at a small bag he’s forgotten to unpack since Patrick was swept into his life. A little gift bag with his company’s name and logo across it. He reaches for it and, at last, takes out the little cracked heart inside— the last thing left from Patrick.

Depressing, yes. But Pete smiles lightly all the same.

Twenty-eight minutes until closing.

He stands, cradling the precious thing in his hands, and relocates to the small workshop table near the entrance. It’s an area they use for demonstrations and promotional events, a place with just the right tools and adhesives Pete needs. Already, laying out the broken pieces before him, his chest feels lighter than before. 

No more looking into shadows. He has a heart to fix.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

It’s the weekend leading up to Christmas and Pete still hasn’t seen Patrick. It’s a fact he avoids and distracts himself from with work on the glass heart. It’s a slow process to make it as immaculate as it was before the cracks and splinters but it’s worth every second. Pete can almost pretend everything is as perfect as the heart he’s healing. 

Until  _ he  _ shows up.

“You! You’re the guy I need to talk to!” 

Pete’s only heard him a few times but he pauses his work the second he hears Sam’s voice booming throughout the store. The shop’s only been open a bit over an hour and Pete hasn’t had the chance to return either himself or his heart to the front workstation, too busy with early morning customers filing in. He blinks when he sees Sam, unsure whether he’s supposed to hide or fight.

“Excuse me?” He says instead of either option, staring up at Sam when he stops before the counter.

“You’re Pete,” Sam says, carrying on without waiting for confirmation. “You’re the one Patrick’s been hanging around.”

Pete most certainly does not go red and he doesn’t wince at Patrick’s name. 

He does freeze up just a bit more, though.

“Not. Not recently,” he says brilliantly. “I mean, okay, he’d come in a bit for Christmas shopping but that’s about it.”

Sam crosses his arms across his chest and Pete wastes a few seconds wondering if he’s flexing or if his arms are really just that big.

“Don’t lie to me, man. I’m not someone you want to try to fight, in this life or any other,” Sam says. Pete mentally agrees with the dramatics, tearing his eyes from the muscles and up to Sam’s as equally hardened gaze. “Are you the dick putting ideas about breaking up in Patrick’s head?”

“Breaking up?” Hope and shock flood Pete with such a sudden rush that he’s certain he’s going to shut down from the effects of each. “You and Patrick are breaking up?”

Sam narrows his eyes, leaning in as if he can smell the hope on Pete. 

“No, we’re not.” Is it Pete’s imagination or does Sam sound like he’s trying to convince himself? “He’s just been saying a bunch of stupid shit and I want to find out why.”

“Oh, well.” Pete pauses and tries not to sound like he kissed this man’s boyfriend a week or so ago. “I haven’t seen him around. And, trust me, he never sounded to me like he wanted to break up.” Pete helpfully leaves out the part about telling Patrick to do as much.

The words and clear surprise, though, seem enough to convince Sam for now. He pulls back and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing with a disgusting guttural sound. When he drops his hand and looks back at Pete, it’s with a warning in his eyes.

“I don’t know where else he’s getting all these ideas from, then,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s always saying dumb shit, I guess. I swear, that idiot’s so—”

“Don’t call him that.” Pete says it before the words even flash through his mind, appearing as if summoned by Sam’s insult. Sam looks up and, though Pete can see the wheels turning in his head, he can’t help but continue. “He’s not dumb.”

It doesn’t make up for what Pete said or did but it does give Sam pause, does have him silent and considering.

It’s not exactly a good thing.

“I didn’t say he was.” Sam speaks slowly and the worst part is that he seems to believe what he’s saying. He lays his hands down flat on the counter but his thumb brushes against something, the sound of glass rocking back and forth taking the place of his voice. They both look at the same time, Pete’s breath catching in his throat when Sam pokes at the half-healed heart again. “Hey. It’s that thing Patrick returned.”

It shouldn’t sound like a threat but it does and Pete holds his breath as Sam lifts the ornament with such an indelicate touch that he’s amazed it doesn’t shatter.

“Yeah,” Pete says, the word stumbling across his vocal cords. “Yeah, I was just. Fixing it.”

“Why? It looks fine. In fact, I might be tempted to buy it.” And Sam definitely knows something, sees or hears something in the way Pete acts towards the heart. He smiles and smirks and it’s not fair because he already has Patrick, he must be insane to think Pete will let him have this, too. “I do need a present for Patrick, after all.”

Pete thinks bitterly of how Sam made such a big deal over someone else breaking it, how he made Patrick return it because he was so damn ashamed. The bitterness collides with smug satisfaction as he thinks of how that simple act, that cruel tantrum, is what lead Patrick straight to Pete.

Maybe, just maybe, it will do so again.

Pete refuses to react when Sam makes it official and passes the ornament over with a smile that says he expects Pete to kick his feet and scream about it; even though it feels like selling a piece of his own heart, Pete bites back every nerve aching at the thought of losing the last bit of Patrick he has. The retorts and refusals building in his throat cut short like his tongue has been slashed through with the blade of Sam’s grin.

Sam leaves, still smiling and talking about how much Patrick will love his present. Pete waves and tries to smile. He tries to hope for the best.

He tries to believe Patrick will understand who the present is really from.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

As if there was ever any doubt in anyone’s mind about Pete’s desperation, obsession, and determination in waiting for Patrick, he signs himself up for one more open to close shift the day before Christmas Eve. Bone-tired and hating Sam— as well as recovering from an hour-long scolding from his mother about taking time off for the family during the season— he drags himself into his last shift before Christmas and waits.

And waits. And waits.

Only one or two other workers are scheduled for today, the few who had nothing better to do with their holiday weekend. A total of five customers come in, none of them buying anything; they all do, however, take the time to ask if Pete’s feeling alright. He supposes his exhaustion is showing but he doesn’t have the time to care.

The morning passes without incident. The afternoon does the same. As hours fade and his employees clock out, Pete’s hope scurries off into shadows like a sewer rat caught in the daylight— disgustingly exposed.

What truly sucks more than anything else is that Pete has no promise that he’ll ever see Patrick again. Sam’s a controlling bastard; he could have somehow commanded that Patrick never return to the mall. And, even if it’s less dramatic, Patrick seemed pretty pissed at Pete last they spoke; he could have made the decision all by himself.

Both thoughts hurt and Pete tortures himself trying to figure out which one he prefers. 

Finally, it’s time to close his shop for the Christmas season. As security guards walk by to remind him of the mall hours, Pete shuts off the lights and lets go of the last bit of his faith. He leaves, locking and shutting the door before he can watch his foolish dreams shatter like glass hearts on the floor of his stupid store.

It’s when he turns, dejected and trying to grasp any semblance of a Christmas spirit, that he sees it— a smile, a special smile, one that gleams like the moon itself.

A smile belonging only to Patrick.

Pete freezes, back to his shop doors, and time stills with him, so perfectly that Pete’s not sure his own heart is even beating anymore.

“Hey,” Patrick says, his voice as shy as his smile. He’s dressed warmly for the weather outside, a scarf and hat and thick puffy jacket. It’s hard for Pete to remember any heartache when he sees Patrick looking so adorable in front of him; he’s grateful to even have the chance to be with him, at all. “So, I, uh. I’m sorry for not coming back.”

“It’s fine,” Pete says, shock fuelling his words. “I understand. I think.”

“Actually, I don’t think you do,” Patrick says, shaking his head. He steps closer but not even this can break their frozen spell, Pete’s breath a mere fantasy as he watches Patrick draw near. Patrick laughs breathily, pausing a few feet away. “Sam’s the only guy I’ve ever really dated so I never knew what it meant to actually be in love with someone. I might have loved him once, I don’t know. But then I met you and it terrified me because everything was brighter. Like, Sam was good at times but he was some indoor lighting and being with you was like stepping into the sun for the first time.” Patrick stops, fixing his glasses with a shaking hand. “And I left because I was scared to get burned.”

“I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t hurt you.” Pete’s voice is nearly inaudible but, somehow, Patrick hears him anyway.

“I didn’t know that. All I knew is what Sam had taught me about relationships and I didn’t see the point of hurting myself with another one that wouldn’t work out.” Again, Patrick stops but this time is so he can reach into his jacket pocket, revealing something shiny and glimmering and— “And then I saw  _ this _ . And it kinda changed everything for me.”

The glass heart shines brilliantly in Patrick’s hand, casting dimmed rainbows across his skin when he twists his wrist just so. A golden thread hangs from the top and down from Patrick’s hand, a line tugging Pete forward when Patrick presents the ornament to him.

Pete’s words stick in his throat and he can’t force any of them out, can’t tell Patrick that he’s light itself, the burning blaze that Pete can’t ignore. He can only stare at the gift he’d meant for Patrick; he can only choke back every fear and hope as the two collide in his heart and mind.

“I knew it was your work the second I saw it. Even after I left you, you still tried to fix it.” Patrick pulls the heart back towards himself, smiling down at it with enough emotion that Pete imagines he can see a dozen reflections in the heart. “Sam had left it in the  _ Hourglass _ bag when he placed it with the rest of the presents and I know it’s bad behavior but I had to look. I had to know and so…” Patrick looks up, eyes wide and searching as he looks at Pete. “It wasn’t his gift to give. I’d been considering what you’d said about… about deserving better? And that was the last straw. I left him a few days ago. I’d have come here earlier but… I wanted to be sure that this is what I wanted.”

Naturally, Patrick’s words shine upon the darkest corners of Pete’s mind, the places where he’d shoved his hopes mere moments ago. Patrick keeps watching him, keeps waiting for him to speak, and Pete’s not so sure this isn’t a dream.

“And here you are,” Pete says. “You came. So that means only…”

“It means that, if you really meant what you said, I’m here to ask you out on a date sometime after the holidays.” Patrick’s red, blushing like Christmas lights, and Pete can’t get enough of it as he stammers out his words. “I… I hope you’ll say yes? But if you say no then I’m just gonna say I’m here to give you the heart back. I only want it if you mean it.”

“I do mean it,” Pete says, his voice so much more urgent than Patrick’s as he watches countless emotions flicker across Patrick’s face— the same hopes and fears Pete’s feeling in his own chest. “I wanted to fix it entirely and give it to you. As an apology or confession, whatever you would take it as. But I couldn’t finish and I know that makes it less, like, impressive or something—”

“It’s not our job to fix things on our own,” Patrick interrupts, the brush of wind through a blizzard. He holds his hand out again smiling brighter than ever before. “Look closer.”

And what else can Pete do but listen?

The ornament. Sparkling and glittering and flawless. Well, mostly flawless. Cracks remain but there are improvements Pete hadn’t made, progress he hadn’t gotten to. It’s the work of someone who may have stumbled over the steps, the work of someone who didn’t understand what they were doing.

It’s the work of someone who tried to fix it anyway.

“You did the rest.” Pete’s entirely breathless now and he feels the same awe, Patrick’s awe, stretching across his face as he looks back up. Patrick’s biting his lip, as bashful as ever, but a new pride burns in his eyes when he nods.

“Yeah. So it’s not yours or mine, it has to be ours now,” he says, licking his lips as he lowers his arm once more. “So, would you like to get coffee sometime? Or maybe—”

“Yes.” Pete’s amazed he can speak, as caught up in his own thoughts as he is. He takes Patrick’s free hand and just barely keeps himself from bouncing joyfully. “Of course, yeah, yes.”

Patrick smiles back, placing the ornament in his pocket. “Good. That’s… Yeah, that’s a relief.”

Pete laughs and the sound echoes in the nearly abandoned mall; Patrick joins with a cheery giggle of his own, stepping closer to Pete until they’re finally chest-to-chest.

“Hey,” he says, cutting off Pete’s laughter gently. His eyes glow under the mall lights and Pete swears he’s Christmas magic incarnate. “Tell me when to stop.”

The words last only a second and then he presses his lips to Pete’s. It’s exactly like the first time but better, warmer, brighter. Pete shuts his eyes but he still sees the perfect brilliance of Patrick in his arms, a light so dazzling that even his dreams had forgotten how special he is.

He melts into him. He holds him. He kisses him.

And he never once tells him to stop.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through last year's Christmas fic and I can admit that I'm horrible. Last year, I claimed it was based on Curious George; this year was Wham. I weep for what the future holds.
> 
> Anyway! Leave a thought in the comments! And have a wonderful holiday season :)


End file.
